


Who Cares What You're Wearing

by Arsenic



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-21
Updated: 2008-09-21
Packaged: 2021-01-02 00:44:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21152792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/pseuds/Arsenic
Summary: Ten stories written for Ryan Ross's 22nd birthday, based on clothes prompts.





	Who Cares What You're Wearing

**liketheroad, Ryan/Spencer, the hat he maybe made himself**

Spencer found Ryan in the middle of his project. Well, technically it wasn't the beginning or the end, so, the middle. Spencer sat a little off to the side, watching, waiting. Finally, Ryan gave in, huffing in frustration. "Do you just-- Is it some, like, ESP thing you have?"

"Are you actually asking if I can read your mind? Because I sort of thought we got to the truth of that years ago between us."

Ryan gave Spencer a Look and didn't deign to answer that. Spencer smirked. Ryan sighed. Spencer really did have the most amazing ability to walk in on him right when he was about to fail epically at whatever project he had decided to take on. Spencer said, "So, what exactly are we doing here?"

Ryan thought it was pretty obvious, given the hat and the glue and the random supplies scattered on his table, but, "I wanted to make a hat."

It was a long time, but finally Spencer just said, "Okay, tell me what the plan was."

Ryan tugged Spencer down next to him, happy that Spencer didn't need him to explain why, or what had given him the idea, or anything else like that. He pointed and said, "See, I was gonna--"

Spencer nodded. Ryan said, "And then--"

"Yeah, okay." Spencer took the hat into his hands. "I think you just need more hands.

Ryan grinned, grabbing for the feather. Spencer went for the glue.

*

Ryan knew he was in for it as soon as the cameras were off of them and Spencer was close enough to ask, "You made the hat, huh?"

"You were my milliner's assistant," Ryan responded primly. It wasn't going to get him out of trouble, he knew that, but it was worth a shot.

"Uh huh," Spencer said, and didn't pursue it. Ryan was so screwed.

*

Ryan's hat disappeared. Normally Ryan would have blamed Brendon, who was forever "borrowing" Ryan's shit and then accidentally losing it, but he knew better in this instance. He found Spencer and said, "All right, I give. Where's my hat?"

Spencer raised his eyebrow. "What's in it for me?"

Ryan knew better. "What do you want?"

Spencer got a look in his eyes that Ryan knew. "What if I said I wanted your hat?"

"I'd...ask you why." Ryan felt somewhat pleased by himself. It was fairly rare that he managed to come up with something in response to Spencer's more ridiculous statements. Spencer didn't even really like hats.

Spencer tilted his head. "Because _we_ made it."

Ryan stared at Spencer for a long moment. "Oh."

"Oh?" Spencer sounded amused.

Ryan hated feeling like Spencer was laughing at him on any level. It rarely happened, but when it did-- Ryan turned on his heel, ready to just stomp off--fuck the hat, anyway--when Spencer caught his arm. "Hey. Hey."

"You can have the hat," Ryan said flatly, but didn't try and pull his arm from Spencer's hand. Spencer would let go when he was ready, and Ryan knew enough to know that no amount of tugging was going to change that.

"Ryan."

"Spencer."

Spencer tugged, just a little, and Ryan stumbled toward him, into his...lips? Ryan jerked back. "Spence, I didn't--"

Spencer sighed. "For someone who likes metaphorical language so much, I swear, Ryan Ross."

Ryan frowned. "Metaphors?" Then, "Oh. _We_ made the hat."

"Yeah," Spencer said, and gave another little tug. Ryan didn't even resist this time.

**secrethappiness, Ryan/Jepha, bead necklace/bracelet**

"Oh, shit, sorry," the guy said, but it was just a little too slow, a little too drawn out to be all that genuine. Ryan did his best to untangle himself from the guy's fingers without a) choking to death or b) breaking his necklace. He liked his necklace. And sure, the place he'd gotten it was in Vegas and he could get another one, but that wasn't the point.

When he turned around to maybe give whomever had stuck his finger in Ryan's beads a very fierce glare--at the very least--he found himself face to face with Jepha Howard. Ryan had the feeling his glare might not have been as fierce as he had wished, or really, fierce at all. It wasn't Ryan's fault he had a thing for bassists. Ryan worried that it was some sort of really fucked up psychotrauma he had going and the next thing he knew, he was going to have a daddy kink as well. For the moment, though, he was safe. As safe as someone who really wanted to bang Jepha Howard and was standing right in front of him could be.

"Ryan Ross," Jepha said, and his voice wasn't sexy, really, except for the part where Ryan was so hard it hurt. Jepha was curling his finger in the necklace now, his knuckle rasping over the plane of Ryan's chest.

"Um." Ryan hated that he could make Brendon and Jon and Spencer and even Pete laugh, could come off as aloof as he wanted to the majority of the time, until he actually wanted to. Then he was just fucked.

Jepha tilted his head, considering Ryan for a long moment. Then he said, "Gonna come see us play?"

Ryan hadn't been planning on it. He listened to The Used casually at times, but in a fest where an approximate three million bands were playing--Ryan hadn't counted or anything, but the lineup made it seem that way--they weren't the first act he was likely to hit up. Then again, he was a little surprised Jepha had any clue who he was. "Sure." He had the feeling it came out sounding more like a question than he intended it to.

"Second stage, seven," Jepha said, running his finger along the line of beads. "Aren't you going to invite me to your show?"

Ryan swallowed, made himself think. "It was open to fest attendees and participants, last I checked."

Jepha's lips twitched. "Maybe I'll see you there, then."

"I'll be there," Ryan said, feeling stupid immediately afterward, because no shit he would be there.

Jepha smirked and freed his grip on the necklace.

*

Jepha came to their show. They were in the middle of Nine and Ryan glanced over and yeah, he had thought that ink looked kind of familiar. Jepha was chatting with one of their techs, which why Jepha would know one of their techs was beyond Ryan, but-- Brendon was looking at him and, oh, shit, he should probably sing.

Jepha laughed. Some days, Ryan hated being a rockstar.

*

Ryan grabbed Spencer on the way off the stage. Spencer said, "The fuck?"

Ryan said, "Strength in numbers." Spencer, thankfully, was willing to just go with that. Ryan was even willing to forgive him the knowing noise he made when Jepha intercepted them as they made their way through to the water tents.

"Good set, Smith," Jepha said amicably.

"Thanks," Spencer said, holding out his hand, totally cool and everything Ryan wanted to be when he grew up. Ryan should have brought Brendon. He came off well in comparison.

Casually Jepha asked, "I wouldn't be stepping on any toes if I wanted to molest your lead guitarist, right?"

Spencer slide a sidelong look at Ryan and after a moment said, "Best of luck to you," and then slipped away, like the total traitor he was.

Ryan said, "I--"

"I'm not even going to pretend like I'm not interested in being pounded into the fucking wall by you, but if you say no, I'll play nice and go away."

Ryan blinked. "Have we _met_ before, and I'm just forgetting?"

Jepha sighed. "If I told you, you wouldn't believe me."

Ryan crossed his arms. "Try me."

"Can we go somewhere a little less--" Jepha gestured lazily at all the people milling around.

Ryan thought it was kind of late to be getting squeamish, but whatever. "My bus or yours?"

Jepha didn't even think about it. "Yours."

*

Jepha made them tea. And okay, one bus was likely to be pretty much like any other bus, but it was kind of nice of him to just do that so Ryan could go and wipe himself down. They sat at the table and Jepha said, "So, Mikey and I, we were kinda sorta together for a while."

"Mikey Way?"

"How many Mikeys do you know?"

"I don't know Mikey Way, but okay."

Jepha granted the point with a tilt of his tea toward Ryan. "Anyway. Everybody thinks Mikey's like, demure and shit, but he's a total troublemaker, he's just quiet about it, and it's not like the world doesn't know about my size queen thing, but Mikey takes advantage, is the thing."

Ryan sifted through the information he had just been given, but no, no, still not making any sense. "You're not making any sense."

"You know about Pete's habits of sending links to Mikey that he finds amusing that are most likely to drive Mikey insane?"

"Pete does that to everyone," Ryan told him.

"Right, well, Mikey's picked up the habit. He keeps sending me pictures of you."

"Me," Ryan said.

"You're...well-endowed."

Oh, size queen. Got it. "You want me for my cock."

"Also, I like imagining what you would look like in beads and only beads. But essentially, um, yes."

"I could be straight, you know?"

"You could be," Jepha granted, "but I've seen the pictures, you're not a homophobe, so it seemed worth floating the offer."

Ryan leaned back against the booth. "Just beads, huh?" He lifted a foot, cupping it over Jepha's cock. Sure enough, he was hard.

Jepha scowled. "Play fair."

Ryan stripped off his shirt, the beads of his necklace falling gently back against his skin. "No. No, I don't think I will."

**sauciloo, Ryan/Gerard, vests**

"Stop it," Ryan said.

"I'm not doing anything," Gerard told him. It was true, at the moment. Gerard was lying on his floor, contemplating his ceiling, wondering if maybe he should find his headset. His phone tended to get hot and he was a little afraid of brain cancer, truth be told. It seemed like an awful lot of work, though, so he stayed where he was.

"You're wearing vests. Every damn picture I see of you, vest vest vests."

Gerard frowned. "I thought you'd like it. We match."

"We don't match. You have British public school professor vests, I have Woodstock vests. And I do like it, but I'm very on tour right now, which is why you need to knock it off."

"Oh." Gerard smiled, pleased with himself. It was rare that something got under Ryan's skin enough for Ryan to cry uncle.

"Do _not_ smile, Gerard Arthur Way."

"I'm not," Gerard lied.

Ryan hung up on him. Gerard waited a few minutes and then called back. Ryan picked up.

*

When Gerard showed up, Zack shook his head, gave him a hug and let him on the bus. The guys were still in the venue. Gerard hid his shoes in Ryan's bag and went to go sit on the couch in the back lounge. He heard them come on the bus, and it was Jon who first found him. Jon started to say something, but then he just smiled and called, "Hey Ryan, you've got a visitor."

Jon reached out to high-five Gerard, who returned the greeting with a solemn sense of the occasion, then Jon ambled off. Ryan came in, half way through a water bottle, looking mildly curious. His face froze that way for all of a second before splitting into a grin and sometimes Gerard really thought that it was just that--that moment when simply seeing him could make Ryan into someone almost nobody in the world got to see--that had made him fall in love, that kept him so fucking intwined in Ryan Ross.

Gerard said, "Hi," and, "So, um, _I'm_ not on tour."

"_Finally_," Ryan said. He set the bottle aside and then was on Gerard, pulling him up by the vest. He said, "Doesn't look as proper without shoes."

Gerard shrugged. "You like my feet."

Ryan made a face. "Nearly kill the mood, why don't you?"

"Nearly?" Gerard asked, not even trying to keep the hope from the question.

"I'm twenty-two and I haven't seen you in over a month. I think you'd have to set me on fire."

"Why so young?" Gerard asked mournfully.

"You like'em embryonic," Ryan said, both in agreement and with a certain amount of amused sarcasm.

"Way to nearly kill the mood," Gerard said.

Ryan pulled him in by the vest lapels. "We should stop talking."

Gerard put their mouths to better use.

*

Gerard thought Ryan was asleep when he asked, "Were you really-- Was it actually about matching?"

Gerard closed his eyes, concentrating on the feel of Ryan's hair between his fingers. It had been a long time since Gerard had been able to lose himself in anything but music as much as he could in Ryan. "I started wearing them when we finally dropped Pete off that email chain we were having."

"Pete's such a busybody," Ryan said in the middle of a yawn, draping himself even further over Gerard. It was true, but Gerard owed him and then some for sending an email to Ryan and himself at the same time and making sure it continued until the two of them left Pete in the dust. Ryan said, "Huh. I think I was trying not to pay attention to you."

"Yeah, you held out pretty long," Gerard said. He'd been pretty sure it had meant Ryan wasn't interested, until Spencer emailed him explaining that his best friend was emotionally stunted and tended to withdraw in direct proportion to the amount he wanted something, especially when he didn't think he could get it.

Gerard had emailed back, "Thank you," and sent Ryan a cookie bouquet with cookies that asked the question, "Will you be my boyfriend?" (Boyfriend had taken two cookies.) Everyone liked cookie bouquets. Ray had assured him of this fact, probably largely because he'd already sent it and was freaking the hell out. Luckily, even if everyone didn't, Ryan did.

"Sorry 'bout that," Ryan said.

"You made it up to me," Gerard told him. Ryan was nothing if not focused in the things he decided to put effort into.

"You should keep wearing the vests," Ryan said softly.

"Yeah?"

"I like matching."

"We don't match. You told me so yourself."

Ryan was quiet for a couple of beats. "I wasn't looking close enough."

**berserkide, Ryan/Jon, boy jeans**

When Ryan found the jeans, they were wrapped in a green silk ribbon. There was a patch sewn onto them at the knee. It was a bluebird. Ryan really liked bluebirds. He'd never actually seen one, not in person, until they were in Maryland, but there had been one that liked a certain tree right on a path that Ryan would walk when it was that or killing one of his bandmates. There was a card that said, "Try'em on, Ry," in Jon's nearly-illegible scribble. Boy handwriting.

Ryan pulled the ribbon loose and shook out the jeans and blinked. He turned them back to the front and sure enough, the bluebird was still there, except. Ryan read the label again. Definitely men's; women's didn't come in a size 30. Ryan frowned a little. It wasn't like he was Brendon. He wore men's trousers all the time. He fingered the ribbon. It had been a nice way to wrap the jeans up.

After another moment of debate, Ryan shrugged and shucked his pants, slipping into the jeans. They were really soft. They hung on his hips a bit, but not so much that Ryan was concerned they'd slip down. They were also just a touch too long, but they wouldn't be if Ryan put shoes on. They were actually kind of perfect. Ryan sat down, curling his legs up into his chest as the real test and they came easily, nothing prohibiting movement. He wrapped his arms around his legs, rested his chin on his knees and said, "Huh."

*

Jon found him like that. He sat next to Ryan and said, "Happy Thursday."

"Are we exchanging presents on Thursdays? Nobody told me."

"Eh, my mom finally got the package to me yesterday, and then I had to find the ribbon again, because I'd been waiting so long for her to sew on that damned bluebird."

Ryan looked at him. "The bluebird didn't come with it?"

"They're boys jeans," Jon said gently.

"I know, but--" Ryan nodded. "That was nice of you, to put that on there."

"You like bluebirds."

Ryan frowned. Jon explained, "You used to talk about them when you'd get high."

"Oh. You remember?"

Jon's cheeks went slightly pink. "I was paying _a lot_ of attention to you at that point."

Despite the adorableness of slightly-abashed Jon Walker, Ryan's eyes narrowed. "Were you even high?"

"Uh. A little?"

"Good thing I don't know any state secrets," Ryan said.

Jon grinned.

"My trousers not make me man enough for you?"

Jon snorted. "Ryan, believe me when I say that you are easily twice the man of just about anyone I know."

Ryan pushed at him. "You knew what I meant."

Jon shook his head. "Nah, I just. Payback's a bitch, Ross. And I let you dress me up my fair share, I think."

Ryan hid his face behind his hands so as not to laugh in Jon's face. "This is your idea of payback?"

"Careful, Ross. I can get my fingers between that waistband and your waist."

"That's... That's your idea of a _threat_?"

"Oh, that is _it_ George Ryan."

Ryan was about to tell Jon to play fair, only Jon had him by the waist and he was busy pretending to try and get away.

**trinity_clare, Ryan/Greta, beads**

The year Ryan was nine, Spencer had gone off to a camp near Lake Tahoe for two weeks. Ryan had wanted to go, but even then he'd known better than to ask. Ryan had already figured out that Spencer didn't worry about how many food stamps were left for the month. Spencer had written him letters, even though he got back before most of them got to Ryan, but they were filled with things like: _horses are big_ and _the lake has <strike>leeee</strike> <strike>lei</strike> leytshes in it_ and other things meant to make Ryan feel better about being left at home, but Ryan already knew what Spencer sounded like when he was having a good time, so it was a failed attempt. Ryan never told Spencer, he just spent a lot of time at the library and tried not to act ridiculously grateful to have Spencer back the first day he reappeared.

Spencer came home bearing gifts, or, well, detritus that passed as gifts. He emptied his loot--about forty random beads and a few different sorts of strands--onto the kitchen table and said, "Wanna make a bracelet? The crafts teacher said it was a good project to do at home."

Ryan wondered how, exactly, that topic of conversation had come up between Spencer and his camp counselor. Ryan didn't ask. Instead he said, "I'm bad at crafts."

"Yeah, but all we have to do is put the bead on the string."

It was a compelling argument. Ryan really wanted a bracelet. He shrugged. "Which string do you want?"

Spencer made him choose first.

*

Ryan knew that neither Brendon nor Jon had any real clue about where his seemingly random love of beadwork came from, but they accepted it at face value and often Ryan would climb into his bunk only to feel a bag of beads directly beneath his spine, or open his guitar case to find one neatly tucked under the strings. Unless they were from Spencer--Spencer had a certain style, or maybe it was just that Ryan _knew_ his tastes--he could never wholly be sure which one of the guys they were from. (Well, okay, if they were neon, it was Brendon, but that was the only real indicator.) Ryan just made sure to show his appreciation in little ways, coffee and smiles and occasionally encouragement. He beaded them jewelry all the time, but almost never got up the nerve to actually give it to them. Brendon would have been ecstatic, Spencer indulgent, Jon... Ryan was concerned Jon would humor him, and he didn't want that. Then again, he didn't want to give things to the other two and not to Jon. It was a conundrum.

Then fortune struck. Fortune looked and sounded a lot like Greta Salpeter, but Ryan wasn't terribly surprised. She was blonde haired and blue eyed, it seemed pretty standard. Ryan spent days and nights trying to figure out exactly the right combination of beads that would say, "I love you, but not in a childish way, I totally want to play music with you forever, and also, you're pretty," without seeming, well, like something a girl's gay best friend would give her. Ryan wasn't unaware that he walked a fine line.

When he was about to give up, allow that Greta was clearly meant to be with Chris who made her laugh and other stupid things people seemed to like to do, Jon came to him with glass beads, tiny and clear and utterly pristine. Ryan said, "I love you Jon Walker," and Jon said, "Saving heterosexuality, one band member at a time."

Ryan thought that was rich, coming from someone who so clearly wanted to bone Brendon, but whatever. Ryan hugged him again and said, "I owe you one." He was totally going to have to make Brendon a bracelet. One that said, "jwalk wants 2 bone u."

*

Ryan unearthed the collection of tiger-bone beads he had and threaded one in the middle of the glass beads, onto a thick cord of black silk ribbon. He walked around with the bracelet in his pocket for three days before Spencer said, "Ryan, either give it to her, or start wearing it."

"It's gonna make things super awkward if she's like, '...thanks.'"

"We'll get over it. Brendon can kill awkward where it stands."

Ryan acknowledged the truth of this silently. "I just-- She's. She's really awesome."

Spencer was silent for a bit. "So's that bracelet."

*

Ryan poked his head onto the other bus when they were gassing up. Darren said, "Hey, are we trading?" and was out the door before Ryan could say anything.

Chris said, "Hey, you know the door policy, you're letting the AC out."

Ryan stepped inside. "Um, hey."

Greta was peering over a book, just her eyes visible. Ryan could tell she was smiling. Bob said, "Hey, Chris, wanna come show me that thing?"

"What thing, Bob?"

"That _thing,_" Bob said, smacking Chris upside the head.

"Oh, right. _That_ thing." Chris followed, smirking.

Ryan was possibly going to die of embarrassment. The good news was, Greta was sort of pink, like maybe she understood. Ryan said, "Hi."

"Hi." She smiled. "How are you?"

Ryan shrugged. "Tired."

Greta said, "Oh I know. I would sleep all day, except the boys are loud."

Ryan nodded knowingly. He said, "I, uh, I sort of made something for you," and briefly wondered if he could hit his head on the nearest surface without being noticed. Probably not. Ryan really needed lessons from Jon. Jon was smooth. He was charming. He was...Jon Walker, so Ryan was pretty much doomed.

"Ryan?"

"What?" Ryan startled out of his reverie.

"What'd you make me?"

"Oh," Ryan pulled it out of his pocket, nearly dropping it in the process. "It's just, I have this-- I like-- Beads. I like beads." He'd never said that aloud to someone who wasn't one of the guys.

"Wow," Greta said, her eyes going a little wide. "You really made this for me?"

"It's not, I mean, I can do more complicated--"

"I love it. It's-- Why these beads?"

Ryan hadn't really thought about it before, but now that she was asking, he knew. "Glass for the way it sounds when your fingers hit the keys. Tiger bones because of the stuff you don't show, the-- You can be really fierce, with the guys, but I've never seen it when you were talking to the fans or interviewers, or, I mean, you're very good at looking, uh, cuddly."

It was a good thing Ryan had groupies, because at this rate he was pretty sure he was never going to get laid by anyone else again, ever.

"Cuddly," Greta said, her voice edged in amusement, and...something else. She held out her wrist in what even Ryan knew was a clear invitation. "Will you help me put it on?"

Ryan smiled and took her wrist, moving to tie the bracelet, his fingers brushing over her skin, loop, loop and pull.

**robjlea, Ryan/Jepha, legwarmers**

Ryan opened the package and texted Jepha, "wht iz this, liek, 1985?"

"ur always cold, ross."

Ryan couldn't deny the truth of that. Even in the summertime, the recycled air of the bus, heavily cooled, made him shiver. Winter, winter was nigh unbearable, some sort of punishment for being born in Vegas that Ryan was absolutely defenseless against. Ryan poked at the gift. It was soft and a really nice color of green and well, they did seem awfully warm.

"Oo," Brendon leaned over the box. "American Apparel. That's totally code for 'I love you.'"

Ryan would have told Brendon to shut up, except that he was pretty certain Brendon was being genuine. He was also pretty certain that Jepha probably wasn't conveying that message via mass made, heavily marketed clothing choices. Although, maybe. Jepha was, at times, a hard read.

"You gonna try'em on?" Brendon asked.

Ryan looked outside the window, where the fields of Minnesota--Wisconsin, possibly, he wasn't entirely sure--were gliding by, covered in a hard sheen of white. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm trying'em on."

*

They looked sort of ridiculous to Ryan--and Ryan wasn't unaware, for all that people might think he was, of how his normal clothing choices came off, but legwarmers was a step above and beyond. That said, when he pulled them past his socks, over his sweats or jeans, sealing the warmth in, he really didn't care how stupid he looked. His ankles were _warm_.

"What you need," Jon opined, "are some leggings.

Ryan said, "What I need is a new bassist."

Jon didn't believe the threat. He never did, fucker.

*

Ryan loved Bert--to his surprise, but there it was--and Quinn, but when he went to visit Jepha, he tended to put his foot down. "Your place, not Bert's."

Luckily, Jepha saw the sense in this. Ryan suspected this was due to the time Bert and he had gotten caught up in an impromptu tie-dye project, but whatever. A man had to do what a man had to do to get his boyfriend to see reason. Ryan wasn't beyond buying a little Rit and a lot of pot, okay?

Jepha's house was always either cold or hot when they first got there, because Jepha would come from Bert's to pick Ryan up and they'd go back there, where the heat or air-conditioning hadn't been turned to a proper temperature. In the middle of February it was a good bet that it would be at least cool, with cold more likely. It never really mattered, either way they were going to have sex over Jepha's entry table, because that was the way they rolled once the door was shut.

Once that was over, though, Ryan would make Jepha adjust the heat and then pull them into the shower, so that he could warm up while waiting for the rest of the house to get with the program. When Ryan climbed out this time, he pulled on his sweats and some socks and the legwarmers. Jepha said, "Hey, you wore'em."

"You sent them," Ryan said, not entirely sure why Jepha was surprised by this.

"Yeah, but I-- It was more of a 'hey, I'm thinking of you and your cold legs' thing. If I'd expected you to wear it I would've gotten something you liked, like a scarf, or a hat or something."

"You just wanted me to know you were thinking of my legs," Ryan said, keeping his voice more even than he did even on a normal basis.

Jepha laughed. "I'm always thinking of your legs, Ryan Ross, always."

"Yeah, I'm sure that's what keeps you up nights."

"Part of it," Jepha said, and Ryan would have laughed, only Jepha's voice was a little soft, a little...fond.

Ryan said, "Well. They're warm," for lack of anything better to say, hating that he felt young and off-balance and all the things that Jepha _could_ make him feel, but generally chose not to.

"Good," Jepha said, stepping into Ryan's space. Jepha was warm too, consistently. Sleeping with him was like having a personal heater.

Ryan took a step forward as well, so that they were touching. Jepha took the bait.

**universunfold, Ryan/Brendon, cowboy boots**

Ryan knew better than to let Brendon go shopping with Spencer because while he had the utmost trust in Spencer's ability to say, save a busload of children amidst an apocalypse, or anything _important_ like that, the combination of Spencer, Brendon and stores, stores where there might possibly (probably) be shoes, was a dangerous one, likely to end in things like Uggs. Ryan could forgive the gogo boots incident, mostly because Brendon had let him suck him while standing in those things, and well, Ryan had fond memories, but Uggs were beyond the pale.

The problem was, the band had long ago come to an agreement, initiated--oddly--by Jon, that anything in the store could be contended, but once it had been purchased, no other band member had a right to bitch. So if Ryan wasn't along to stop sheepskin lined atrocities from occuring, who only knew what Spencer would let Brendon get away with, and vice versa. (Secretly, Ryan suspected they might actually egg each other on, but he had not shared these dark thoughts with anyone, nor did he plan to.)

There were times, though, when Spencer and Brendon were clever bastards, and able to escape Ryan's grasp by distracting him with a brand new journal and one of those space pens. Ryan cursed himself for his weakness when they would come back with Nikes that were larger than Brendon's head and just generally an eyesore. It was one of those very sneak attacks that ended in Brendon showing back up in--

"Are those cowboy boots?" Ryan asked, although he already knew.

Brendon scowled. "You know the rule."

Ryan knew. It wasn't even that they looked bad on Brendon, for once, Ryan could really kind of get behind that choice. It was just, "I thought-- I was gonna get cowboy boots." It occured to Ryan as he was saying it that maybe he should have _told_ someone about that plan when they crossed the border into Texas, and also, not have gotten sidetracked by the saltwater taffee Spencer had given him while he was high. Spencer did not play fair.

"Really?" Brendon seemed elated by this news. "You should. We found this _place_, Ry, they like, fit your feet to the boots and stuff. It's _awesome._"

Ryan considered it. It wasn't like wearing the same shirt or anything. And even if it was, Brendon borrowed his shirts all the time. Before he could say anything, Brendon let out a shout of joy. "C'mon, c'mon, they _know_ me there."

*

They were, indeed, happy to see Brendon back. Ryan wondered mildly just how much money Spencer had spent in this place. It was a heaven of cow-based footwear. Also, people were charmed by Brendon, which made it easier for Ryan, who could be charming, but it took a while for people to catch onto that. Generally, he let Brendon do most of the work for him. Brendon didn't seem to mind.

In this case Brendon handed him over to a guy who was roughly twice Ryan's size with hands that could very likely squash Ryan's head more easily than a beer can. He was very, very dedicated to getting Ryan the Very Best Boots Possible for his foot type and seemed to have adopted Brendon as a younger sibling.

Ryan walked out with two pairs of boots, and several items to care for said boots with. Ryan planned on giving those to Brendon. He had seemed excited listening to the instructions and Brendon could be really good at tasks that required energy and attention.

Walking in the boots was a little odd, Ryan wasn't used to shoes with heels on them, but it was also fun, the swinging motion they induced. Brendon walked beside him, two steps to Ryan's every one, like always, and said, "It's not fair. You're _lanky._ Totally wiry, you're like, what a cowboy's supposed to look like."

Ryan somewhat seriously doubted that, but it was nice, the way Brendon always seemed to believe those sorts of things. He said, "Bet you're less likely to fall off a horse."

Brendon considered that. "You really think?"

Considering that Brendon was good at _everything_ he even tried? "Definitely."

Brendon straightened a little. "That'd be cool. Riding."

Ryan made a mental note to see if he could find a ranch the next time they took a break in Vegas. Ryan wouldn't mind watching Brendon ride, at all. He bumped his hip into Brendon's. Brendon grinned at him. "I like the ones you picked."

Ryan said, "Yours look good on you."

"How good?" Brendon asked.

"Pretty damn good. That," Ryan said, "or I'm easy."

"Probably a little bit of both," Brendon mused. Ryan stepped on his foot.

**, Ryan/Spencer, hippie headband**

"You look like a hippie," Ryan said. It was meant as an insult. Spencer had never been much into the hippie thing.

Spencer smiled, a slow drawl of a smile. "I know."

Ryan sighed, already sure that his campaign of terror wasn't going to get Spencer to stop wearing the damn headbands. It wasn't that Ryan didn't like them. Ryan not liking what Spencer worse was not a problem. In fact, Ryan not liking what Spencer wore was often a gift. When Ryan _did_ like what Spencer was wearing, _that_ was when things got messy.

Ryan sighed, and went off to find angry music. It would be his only savior.

*

Ryan upped his game and convinced Brendon to hide all of Spencer's headbands. It was a brilliant plan. Brendon got to cause mischief, Ryan wasn't likely to jump their drummer and destroy the band, Jon got to pretend ignorance. Spencer was the only one who got hurt and honestly, Ryan would buy him a new pair of shoes, or even two.

The problem was, at some point Spencer had started being a little unpredictable in his thought patterns. He would never, ever have thought to ask Brendon who set him on the idea in the past, never. And Brendon was terribly loyal and all, but yelling, "I will not betray my source! I will not!" was a sure sign that it wasn't Jon Walker he was protecting. Ryan made a note of needing to teach Brendon to hold out against torture-by-Smith--or, in this case, Spencer asking him straight to his face.

Ryan was in so much trouble.

*

Spencer just watched Ryan until Ryan fidgeted. It didn't take one staring match, or even two, but on the third, Ryan broke. "I'm sorry, all right?"

"Well, sure, fine, but you wanna tell me what this is about? Because you've kinda always liked dirty hippies, Ry, so I don't think the aversion is to that, and last I checked we were fine, but maybe I missed something?"

Ryan's eyes went wide and the awareness that he was a bit of an asshole sunk in with unerring precision. "No, Spence. No, that's not-- We're fine. We are."

"Okay, well, you just felt the need to repeat yourself there, so can you see how that was a little less than fully convincing?"

"It was for emphasis," Ryan explained. Spencer shouldn't argue with him about these things. Ryan was the writer.

"This is my unimpressed and unconvinced face," Spencer said, circling his face with his finger. Ryan already knew what Spencer's faces meant. He looked at the ground.

After a long moment, Spencer said, "Okay, well. When you're ready to talk, that's when we'll start talking again," and walked off.

"Fuck," Ryan said, to nobody in particular. "Fuck."

*

Ryan sucked at lying to Spencer. Otherwise he could have just said, "Look, I don't think it fits with your aesthetic and it upsets my sensibilities," and Spencer probably would have marked it down to Ryan being a bitch. But Ryan knew if he even _tried_ that Spencer was just going to laugh in his face and say, "Yeah, okay, come back when you're ready to tell me the actually reason."

Ryan was almost ready. He really missed Spencer.

*

"They make me want to lower them a little so that you can't see and then, um. Do things." Ryan closed his eyes as he said it, didn't dare to breath.

"Okay," Spencer said, easily, as if Ryan hadn't just betrayed their epic and everlasting friendship.

"Um. Okay?"

"Well, I think we should wait until a hotel night, because, let's face it, neither of us has ever tried anything like that, and I'm suspecting there's going to be surprised cursing and nothing sucks more than having Brendon Urie laugh at you, but yeah, I'm down."

"Spence. We are, I mean, I'm not just saying--"

Spencer leaned over and kissed Ryan. "You're an idiot, Ryan Ross."

Ryan nodded. He _knew_, okay?

"But I really want you to blindfold me and fuck me and then possibly cuddle with me afterward."

Ryan risked a smile. Spencer waited a moment before kissing it away.

**packmentality, Ryan/Spencer, ruffled girlie hoodies**

"You cold?" Spencer asked.

"No," Ryan said, feeling patently ridiculous as he said it, since he had his arms wrapped over his torso and was clearly shivering, but it wasn't cold in the building. Realistically, he knew that. He was just a wuss when it came to temperatures colder than seventy-two degrees.

Spencer nodded and wandered off. Ryan tried to tuck in on himself and not ask why he had chosen _this_ particular morning to go with a t-shirt instead of a button down. He had just been so _warm_ that morning. Spencer came back fairly quickly and said, "I know it's a little intense, even for you, but I think it'll fit."

Ryan looked at the green and pink flowering monstrosity of a hoodie Spencer had brought back with him. He blinked. "Where'd you--"

"One of the light techs. She keeps it around. Evidently they always have the air on too low in this place."

"There's a faux-lace ruffle on the hood," Ryan said, but he was already pulling his arm into it. "That's just tacky."

Spencer patted him on the shoulder. "I won't let anyone take your picture."

Spencer was probably lying, but Ryan's shivers calmed to where they weren't actually _hurting_ from the violence of them, so he wasn't too miffed. He said, "Thanks," and rested his chin tiredly on Spencer's shoulder, his arms wrapped low around Spencer's hips. Spencer covered his hands with his own. "Yeah, Ry. Yeah."

*

Ryan gave Spencer the hoodie back when they were about to leave. "You should return that."

Spencer said, "Yeah, probably, huh?"

He came back five minutes later, hoodie still in hand. Ryan asked, "Couldn't find her?"

"Nah, she said to keep it. Said it looked better on you anyway."

That wasn't exactly the most flattering thing Ryan had ever heard, but whatever. That thing was _warm._

*

By the time they got to the hotel, it dawned on Ryan that he was maybe kind of sick. Since he'd gotten hot right in the middle of their taxi ride back and had had to peel off the hoodie and edge as far away from the others as he could, their heat making it even worse. He ached from head to toe and the low-lying headache he'd had all morning had developed into something that made noise of any kind his personal archenemy.

Spencer pulled him out of the taxi when they got there. Ryan said, "I feel like crap."

"Yeah," Spencer whispered. "C'mon."

Ryan didn't really remember the walk to the room. He knew the cold hit again at some point, and Spencer wrapped him back up in the hoodie as well as pulling him into his arms once they were in the elevator, but the actual experience of getting there was pretty much lost.

Spencer dumped him on the bed, and Ryan started crawling up toward the pillows. Spencer tugged him back down. "Slow down there, kiddo. Let's get your shoes off, okay?"

Ryan was perfectly willing to sleep in them, thanks, but he let Spencer pull them off; it seemed to make him happy. Ryan had acheived the position of head-upon-pillow and was nearly asleep when Spencer said, "Up, up."

Ryan grumbled, but didn't fight when Spencer pulled him up into a sitting position. He wasn't sure he could have. Spencer said, "Open."

Ryan opened his mouth and when Spencer put a pill in it and a glass to his lips, Ryan swallowed obediently. It had occured to Ryan on a few occasions that Spencer could probably kill him if he wanted to, given Ryan's trust. Luckily, it hadn't come to that yet. Spencer helped him lay back down and that was it, Ryan _couldn't_ stay awake any longer.

*

Spencer was still there when he woke up. Ryan tried to say, "Hey," but it came out as more of an unformed syllable than anything. Spencer seemed to understand. He shut the book he was reading and said, "You hungry?"

Ryan was about to refuse when he realized, "Starving."

Spencer picked up the phone by the bedside and said, "Yeah, he's awake. Yeah, could you? Thanks."

"Zack?" Ryan asked, actually managing the word.

"Mm. He wanted to make you see a doctor, but I assured him it was your once-every-three years cold-of-death thing."

Ryan nodded. "Thanks." His throat felt like sandpaper. He burrowed into the covers, curling as much into Spencer's leg as he could.

Spencer laughed, but it wasn't unkind. "You're so pathetic." He laid down, letting Ryan into his arms. Ryan made an affirmative sound.

Spencer kissed at his neck. Ryan said, "You'll get sick."

"Haven't yet once."

It was true. The three year cold seemed to be genetically designed to attack only Ryan. Ryan relaxed in the hold. "Thanks."

Spencer squeezed a little. "Yeah. 'Course." In Ryan's mind, there was really nothing "of course" about it, but he loved that Spencer thought there was.

**jain, Ryan/Mikey, mittens**

"Whoa." Ryan gathered up one of the comforters, careful to leave Mikey the other one--Mikey had a thing for down comforters--wrapped it around himself and padded to the window. He peeked past the closed curtain, and sure enough, the sliver of light he'd been able to see hadn't lied. "Mikey?"

Mikey mumbled something, still mostly asleep.

"Mikey, you know that blizzard they kept predicting?"

"They're idiots, Ry, they always--"

"I think it came."

"Wha-- Really?" Mikey sat up, suddenly alert and looking _thrilled_. Ryan drew open the curtain to prove his point. Mikey blinked in the sudden light but then grinned.

Ryan couldn't help grinning back. He opened up his comforter a little. "C'mon."

Mikey came. He brought the other comforter with him, too.

*

When they had had their fill of sitting and watching, the blizzard was still raging, so Mikey made a fire in the fireplace--well, he flipped a switch and the fireplace turned itself on, which Ryan felt was safest for everyone--Ryan made hot chocolate, and the two of them burrowed on the couch and watched Narnia movies.

The snow was slowing by lunch time, but still hadn't stopped. Mikey said, "I have tomato soup cans, bread and cheese."

Ryan said, "I love you. For real."

*

There was easily about eighteen inches on the ground by the time the blizzard was well and truly done, the air bizarrely still after all that fuss. Mikey put his hands on Ryan's shoulders and said solemnly, "Ryan. We're going to need to go out there."

"You're sure?"

"There are snow angels to be made, Ryan Ross. Snow balls to be thrown. Snow men waiting to be born. If you deny all of this, you cannot possibly be the man I believe you to be."

"No, no. You have a point."

"I have gear," Mikey said. "I think you'll fit in some of my old stuff."

Ryan took a breath. "Let's suit up."

*

The snow pants were long on him and the coat hung a little far, but the mittens fit _perfectly_. Ryan was used to having to steal Brendon's or Jon's, or, absolute best case scenario, Spencer's gloves or mittens in an emergency, and they all had midget hands. Oh, sure, Brendon swore it was that Ryan had unusually large mutant hands, but Ryan knew the truth. He and Mikey had men-sized hands, was all.

Ryan clapped his mittened hands together, he couldn't help it. Mikey held up one equally mittened hand for a high five. Then he caught Ryan's hand, and the two of them walked out the door together, hands held between them.

*

Ryan had come into contact with snow before now, but it never really ceased to be something amazing to him, something like, well, a gift from the heavens. Mikey and him made a snowcastle, debating the relative merits between that and an igloo, but in the end, both of them were just too much of romantics to pass up on the castle notion. It was much better than a snowman, in any case.

They made epic snow angels and had a snowball fight that involved more self-destructing snowballs than actual hits, but was awesome all the same.

When Ryan could barely breathe from the cold and the exertion, Mikey dragged him in the house, the two of them shed every layer on them in the entry hall and raced to the shower. Mikey made it first, but only by a step or so. Ryan said, "No fair, you have longer legs."

Mikey said, "Winner gets to fuck the loser."

Ryan put up a cursory fight, because it was the principle, okay? Then Mikey wrapped his hand around Ryan's cock and whatever, Mikey could do _whatever_ the fuck he wanted.

*

Ryan fucked Mikey in front of the fire later, right before they decided to thaw the pizza in the freezer.

*

It wasn't cold in the house, but they dragged every blanket they could find onto the bed anyway, nesting down below them. Ryan said, "Blizzards are kind of awesome."

"Mm. Best when they're shared," Mikey murmured against his collarbone. Ryan fell asleep grinning.


End file.
